


Empty promises

by ylc



Series: Pointless [8]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Attempted Murder, M/M, Part of Series, Pining, implied past johnlock, royal au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-02
Updated: 2016-04-02
Packaged: 2018-05-30 16:48:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6432472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ylc/pseuds/ylc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Death has a way of bringing people together...</p><p>Companion piece to  <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5673097/chapters/14657689">chapter 14</a> of "Pointless thoughts"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empty promises

**Author's Note:**

> Remember I said I wasn’t sure when would I be updating once more because I actually had to look for a job? Well… guess who’s still unemployed, but decided she doesn’t give a damn because there are such things as _priorities_?  Yes, _me_ indeed!  
>  My husband would probably have something to say about that, but well… what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him;)  
> Anyway, enough of my rambling. Enjoy?

Greg isn’t sure how long he has been sleeping when he’s shaken up from his slumber. He opens his eyes, his mind having trouble catching up with his body due exhaustion and so his usual quick and alert awakening isn’t so.

He peers through the dark at the person who woke him up and he frowns a little after noticing it’s Molly. The female is staring at him with obvious concern and a tad of pity that Greg can’t quite comprehend just yet.

“Wha-?” he murmurs sleepily, rubbing his eyes. His whole body feels like lead and he has the impression that’s a bad thing, but he can’t quite point out why. He yawns and attempts to stretch, his muscles protesting at the move, his neck seemingly having developed a crick due the position he has been sleeping in. He’s not sure why he isn’t laying on his bed, but that seems rather unimportant at the moment.

“You need to sleep” the female tells him worriedly, kneeling down so they’re at eye level. “Actual sleep, Greg. Not- this.”

He frowns, more confused now. The doctor sighs, running a hand through her messy hair, looking between tired and frustrated. “Staying here isn’t going to change anything” she says urgently. “Please. You need to rest.”

He looks around the room, hoping to find a clue of what the girl is going on about. When he realizes he’s at Mycroft’s rooms, he feels more confused, but the confusion only lasts for a second, as the memory of the last few days happenings come rushing to him.

The Prince was poisoned 3 days ago or at least he started showing symptoms 3 days ago. Since then, the guard hasn’t left his side, except to let the doctors work and when the Queen is visiting. 

Well, that certainly explains why he’s so spent.

“I’m fine” he argues groggily, yawning once more. “Perfectly fine” he repeats, even if it is quite obvious he’s lying. Molly sighs, patting his knee awkwardly.

“Greg, I know you’re worried-” she begins, biting her lip gently, looking out of her deep. “But exhausting yourself won’t be of any use. There’s nothing we can do to help him” she stops, hesitant. “There’s nothing we can do to… stop this.”

Greg doesn’t answer, his eyes fixed on the laying form on the bed. These last few days have been hellish; he has never felt more helpless in his life. He knows consciously there’s nothing he can do and that his presence here is pretty pointless, but he can bear the idea of being away from his beloved during such rotten times. “Greg” Molly calls for him once more, squeezing his knee gently. “Please.”

He offers her a tired smile, but shakes his head. He won’t be leaving the Prince’s side, no matter what. “Go back to bed, Molly. I’ve got this.”

The female sighs, but nods resignedly. She stands up and sending one last sad look in his direction, she exits the room, leaving Greg in relative solicitude if one considers his companion is pretty much out of sorts.

“You need to pull through, Mycroft” he whispers, “please.”

There’s no answer but the other male’s steady breathing.

For now, that’s enough.

* * *

 

The Queen cuts an imposing figure standing next to the bed in the early morning light. Greg blinks, wondering if he’s still dreaming, but the pain in his neck due his uncomfortable position convinces him his wide awake.

He wonders what he ought to do; standing up and leaving without bringing attention to himself seems almost impossible but what else is he to do? He sits up straighter, his heart beating furiously, worried about what the Queen might be thinking and how will he explain his reasons for being here; duty only goes so far after all.

“Is the feeling mutual?” the woman asks after a while, her eyes still fixed on her sleeping son and Greg freezes, suddenly nervous. Oh, this could be bad in so many levels…

“Your Majesty?” he asks, deciding that playing dumb might be his only saving grace. The female spares a quick glance in his direction, dismissing him almost immediately. For the longest time, neither moves and Greg barely dares to breath, dreading the outcome of this little encounter.

“I worry constantly about my children, Mr. Lestrade” the Queen says, still not facing him. “Even if I don’t usually know how to show it” she frowns and for a second she reminds him so fiercely of Mycroft that his breath is taken away. “Sherlock is too reckless; I see so much of myself in him when I was his age. It’s worrisome, because I’ve always known where that particular path leads and yet-” she bites her lip harshly, as if she has confessed some horrible crime. “But in Mycroft I see much of myself now. He doesn’t- he doesn’t seem to know how to be happy.”

Greg doesn’t know what to say to that, so he stays quiet, confused by the turn of events. The Queen sighs, leaning down to push her son’s hair away from his face. “Not that we’re meant to be happy in the long run” she whispers, closing her eyes. “All for the best, I suppose.”

She straightens up, all trace of vulnerability Greg thought he had seen absolutely gone. She turns to him briefly and offering him a tight lipped smile, she exits the room without as much as glance back to her son. For a while, the guard remains on his chair, unsure of what to think of the bizarre encounter.

What the hell has just happened?

* * *

 

Mycroft wakes up in intervals, sometimes delirious, sometimes fully aware of his surroundings. Greg aches whenever he starts rambling and his heart breaks whenever he tells him something particularly lovely. Love declarations seem to be Mycroft’s prefered feverish rambles and Greg fights to keep himself stoic through them, especially when in the presence of Drs. Stamford or Sawyer. He knows both physicians well enough to know there’s really nothing to fear from them, but still… it’s slightly odd to have the Crown Prince declare his undying love for him at any given occasion.

It brings him back to the days at the Winter Palace, when he had thought that such bliss was actually sustainable in the long run. In some dark corner of his mind, he had known it wouldn’t last, but he couldn’t have quite predicted the abrupt ending it would have.

Now, however-

As bad as that might be though, it’s even worse when Mycroft is perfectly conscious. Every time the Prince states that he’s dying, Greg feels like someone has put a dagger through his heart. In a sense, they certainly have, but-

It’s unbearable, really.

But the idea of not being there, of not offering all the silent support and love he can- that’s even worse.

So he endures. He sits with the Prince through every up and down, helping the doctors to administer the medicine, helping to feed him or give him water whenever he can. Under other circumstances he might have found odd the fact that he’s allowed to stay so many hours at the rooms without anyone questioning what exactly he thinks he’s doing, but he hasn’t enough presence of mind to care about that.

He finds himself praying often, something he hadn’t done since he was a child and lost his mother to sickness. He prays and prays and begs for a miracle that he doubts will come, but he keeps on hoping-

Hope is all he has left.

* * *

 

“I love you so much. And I- I just want you to be happy. I wish you and Ms. Hooper all the happiness in the world.”

He wants to scream and rant and argue; he should have never let such delusion to held. He doesn’t understand how or when both Princes had came up with the idea that he and Molly were something other than friends, but now he regrets avoiding the subject. But he had been so angry and petty as it had been-

It doesn’t matter. Not at all.

So he just continues looking after the Prince, wondering how can he be so brilliant and so daft at the same time. How does he fail to see just how much Greg still loves him, how desperately in love he still is? How doesn’t he notice that there’s never been and there’ll never be someone else for him? How doesn’t he know that he could only belong to him in body and mind?

He hopes there’ll be time to clarify things.

* * *

 

After his own love confession, he finds himself outside the Castle for the first time in what feels like a lifetime, but it’s really just a week. He aches all over, his heart broken in too many pieces for it to ever mend. He knows he’s about to break down and that’s what drove him outside the Prince’s rooms and away from the Castle in the first place, not wishing for anyone to witness his utter despair.

It seems his prayers will go unanswered now, just as they did all those years ago.

So lost in his pain, he doesn’t notice his steps have taken him to one of the shadier parts of the town. He gets pulled by someone into a dark alley and he snaps out of his misery just long enough to try to fight off his attacker.

“Damn it, Greg!” his attacker exclaims once he hits him square in the jaw, sending the man to the floor. “No need for that!”

Greg frowns, having recognized the voice, but knowing it can’t be. It really can’t, because- “John?”

“Hey” the blond greets pleasantly, pushing himself up. Greg stares at the other male unbelievingly and John shrugs. “I’m guessing you’re surprised to see me?”

“You’re dead!” Greg exclaims, more than surprised. “There was an explosion at the healing tents, everyone died! Sherlock was inconsolable for days!”

The soldier bites his lip, obviously uncomfortable with that piece of information. “Well… evidently, I’m not dead.”

Greg stares open mouthed, unsure of what he can possibly say. John stares back nervously, looking terribly out of sorts. “How- when-” Greg starts, but finds himself incapable of finishing the sentence. The whole encounter feels surreal and- 

“I can explain” the doctor tells him urgently. “In fact, I must. I was just- I need to talk to Mycroft. Well, me and Mayor Sholto, but-” he gestures vaguely. “Are the rumors true? Is Mycroft sick?”

“He’s been poisoned” Greg explains, the last traces of his shock gone after uttering the terrible words. “He’s dying.”

John bites his lip once more. “Maybe- maybe I could help. There was- before the explosion, there were a lot of poisoning cases at the border that we couldn’t explain and for the longest time we couldn’t treat, but almost at the end-” Greg must be looking at him like he has just offered him all the riches of the world, because the blond takes a step back, looking uncomfortable once more. “It might not work. But I guess-”

If John can really help, there’s no time to waste. Greg grabs him by the wrist and starts dragging him back to the Castle, not waiting for any more explanations. Those can wait for after Mycroft is cured.

“Greg, wait! I need my stuff, I can’t-”

Greg groans, but concedes the doctor is right. Still, his heart feels lighter, filled with hope as it is now. He nods eagerly and follows John towards where he’s staying, waiting for him a little impatiently, not caring one bit about whatever the other male is babbling about.

Later, he’ll admit he was quite blinded by hope.

Luckily, things do work out.

* * *

 

Greg paces around the room, his unease clear to see. John sits at what the guard has been considering his chair for the past few days, looking tired and a little worried. Mycroft still sleeps, no sign of improvement just yet.

“Stop that, would you?” the doctor snaps finally, looking somewhere between amused and frustrated. “All your pacing won’t help at all” Greg scowls briefly, but promptly ignores the other man, deciding he probably shouldn’t get into an argument. He continues pacing around the room, making John sigh, but the blond doesn’t comment once more, settling instead for start doing some pacing of his own.

“Where else do these secrets passages lead?” the younger male asks after a while, peering at the complex mechanism needed to reveal the entrance to the passage. He looks honestly curious and that’s why Greg decides to tell him the truth, not thinking for a second about its possible implications.

“All across the Royal wing.” The guard replies calmly, “nobody has used them in decades, as you probably noticed by the state they’re in, but Mycroft- well, he figured they could be useful so he had me clear them up enough for them to be usable.”

“Who else knows of their existence?”

Greg closes his eyes briefly, a quick stab of pain going through him. For years those passages were his and Mycroft’s little secret, until- “As far as I know, only Lady Vryzas” he shrugs, non committedly. “And you now, I suppose”

“Lady Vryzas? Anthea?” John questions and Greg can’t help to smile at the little squeak that the blond lets out at the end of his question. He remembers all too well when John was 15 and developed a crush on the older woman. 

Despite the dire circumstances, it’s good he can find some humor, he guesses. “Indeed” he replies with a small smirk on his lips. “After she took over my job-”

“What? Why?” John asks and Greg freezes. That’s right, the doctor doesn’t know about… well, about everything that happened after he was sent to the Northern border.

“Mycroft thought it would be for the best that I kept an eye on Sherlock” he replies, a bit hesitant. He’s not sure how much he can tell John, because he has the slight impression Mycroft won’t be keen on the idea of the doctor knowing he has a daughter. Still- “He- he was rather depressed after-” he gestures vaguely, wondering how they managed to avoid the uncomfortable subject for so long and what happens now that they’ve acknowledged the elephant in the room.

Greg turns slowly to face the other man and finds that John is staring at the wall, glaring daggers at it. He bites his lip, wondering if there’s something he can do or say that would make this slightly less… odd.

“I imagine that’s not the only reason” the other whispers, turning to look at him. There’s something dark and haunted in his expression, but Greg knows better than to comment on it. In true John Watson’s fashion, the blond is going to change the subject he’s uncomfortable talking about. 

Still, this relatively different subject might not be the best thing to discuss right now. “What do you mean?” Greg asks, playing dumb and John snorts, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Well, the fact that Mycroft has been murmuring your name while feverish might have clued me into the fact that some changes have came to pass during my absence.”

Greg bites his lip, not knowing what to say. “I don’t-”

“You finally got around confessing your feelings?” John asks, now looking a bit smug and Greg avoids looking at him. “How did that work out?”

“Not very well” the guard confesses. “As you imagined, that’s part of the reason he assigned me to Sherlock” a resumed and slightly altered version of the facts might be the best course of action right now. “But it’s- we worked it out eventually”

John arches an eyebrow questioningly, but Greg gets spared of continuing his attempt to explain his relationship with the Prince by a coughing fit by said Prince. John frowns and hurries to Mycroft’s side, pulling him into a sitting position and gesturing for Greg to get his medical bag once more. The older male hurries to obey, happy to leave things like that for the time being.

Still, there are many things that John will undoubtedly want to discuss sooner or later.

And he’s not sure which answers he can give.

* * *

 

Mycroft’s fever breaks at the wee hours of the morning, making Greg breath easier.  John seems more relaxed too, so the guard is willing to believe that they’re making some progress. With that out of the way-

“You said that you and Major Sholto had to talk to Mycroft. I was under the impression he died too” he says, deciding there would be of no use in beating around the bush. John looks at him briefly, before turning his attention back to his patient once more.

“Lord Magnussen’s words, I’m guessing?” Greg nods and John makes a disgusted noise. “He wishes” he whispers darkly, checking Mycroft’s pulse and nodding when it seems to be normal. “I wasn’t at the tents when the explosion happened, actually. I was at the watching towers.” There’s some sort of story there, Greg can tell by how John’s eyes seem to darken, but he doesn’t ask figuring it’s not really important. “When I heard the explosion- well, I figured out what was happening quickly enough and hurried to the Major’s tent. I managed to drag him out, although for a long while I didn’t think- it seemed-” he bites his lip harshly, frustration evident in his face. “We were very lucky.”

For a while, neither of them say anything else. Then, John continues, “when we arrived at the Capital and I heard the rumors… I wondered if it wasn’t too late.” He rubs his temples tiredly, looking much older than he is. “I’ve spent the last few days looking for a way to sneak into the Castle unnoticed, I didn’t- I’m so glad I run into you, I don’t know what-” he interrupts himself, taking a deep breath. “Everything is really complicated.”

Greg nods, unsure if he’s expected to say something. John comes to stand in front of him then, the haunted look back on his eyes. “There’s something- there’s another rumor I’ve been meaning to ask- I mean, when you’re busy running for your life you don’t stop to listen to petty gossip but-” he looks so lost and upset that Greg aches for him, despite not knowing what he’s going on about. “Is it true? Did Sherlock marry?”

Oh. Oh. How does he answer that?

“Yes” he says, knowing there’s really no point on lying, but after seeing John’s expression crumbling, he hurries to grab the other male by the shoulders, wanting to say something reassuring, but not knowing what. “John, that’s- he didn’t know you lived, we were told-”

But he would have married even if the news of John’s ‘demise’ hadn’t come through. How could he not, when Abby’s life was at stake? Still, telling John that- he can’t- he probably should, it’s unbearably cruel not to tell him, but-

“I knew it would happen” John whispers, allowing Greg to lead him towards the chair so he can sit down. “I just- I didn’t-” he chuckles humorlessly, no doubt hiding a sob. “I don’t think I ever really  _ believed  _ it would happen. I was hoping-” he laughs a tad hysterically and Greg worries they’ll be heard, but doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. “God, I’m a fool.”

“John, that’s not-”

“Could you- I mean, do you think- do you think you could leave me alone for a while?” John asks, getting himself under control. “I just- I’m a little-” he gestures vaguely and Greg bites his lip, hesitant. He doesn’t like the idea of leaving the room, but it would be for the best if John stays to look over Mycroft and if the doctor needs to be alone for a while…

He nods once, heading towards the secret passage entrance. He offers John one last shaky smile and leaves, the relief he felt at seeing Mycroft improving now diminished by his last conversation with John.

Their situation is truly messed up.

**Author's Note:**

> So… what did you guys think?  
> There was one scene I really wanted to write, but I didn’t find the right place for it. I wanted to write Greg’s reaction to Mycroft’s plan of mating Anthea and I was sort of planning of having him discuss it with John, but well… with all things that were happening, it didn’t seem right.  
> Actually, I’m not sure if the whole interaction with John works. John might be a little too… aloof? I don’t know. I really don’t.  
> Now, another thing. Considering what we saw in [Desperate Measures](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6196279/chapters/14195191), the Queen’s actions here might feel a little out of nowhere, but I don’t see them like that. I mean, there are some really shitty parents out there, but I do believe that most parents screw us up because they’re pretty screwed up themselves and really don’t know how to do it better. I’m not sure if I managed to show that, but my reasoning here was, the Queen resents Sherlock because he reminds her of what she lost so their relationship is… strained. With Mycroft, she sees what she has been forced to become and so she pities him, which makes her a little more… understanding? emphatic? Something like that? Parents-children relationships are always very complex, but they fascinate me deeply and so I usually have these long headcanons of why the dynamics work out like that but I’m not sure if they make sense to everyone else…  
> Anyway, let me know what you thought? Thanks for reading!  
> You can also find me in [tumblr](http://ylc1.tumblr.com/)


End file.
